His expression didn’t look upset. Just thoughtful. But he’d stayed quiet so long, I couldn’t help but worry.
“Is this okay?” I asked him. “I know we didn’t, like, talk about it.”
For a second, he stared down at his lap, then he nodded slowly. When he raised his head, his eyes were glossy. “I feel like someone is squeezing my heart and all the good stuff just can’t stay stuck inside, so it’s coming out my eyeballs.”
I leaned my head against Archer’s shoulder and smiled, so impossibly, blissfully happy that it didn’t even seem real. His fingers twined through mine and squeezed.
Gavin sniffed. “Is this why you always cry during that commercial?”
“Yup. Heart squeezing out of my eyeballs, for sure.”
Archer laughed under his breath, turning his head to press a soft kiss to my temple.
Pops caught my eye and winked as Gavin carefully slid his fingers underneath the beautiful red ribbon holding the box closed.
“Did you wrap that?” I asked quietly.
Archer shook his head. “No way, I’m the king of gift bags.”
“Good,” I exhaled. “If you were that talented at wrapping presents, too, I’d have to worry you were too perfect.”
He grinned, his hand sliding over my thigh.
Gavin pulled the ribbon off and carefully set it on the floor next to the couch. The box on his lap was white with silver edges, a Buffalo logo gleaming in the middle. It wasn’t even a gift I’d purchased, but I found myself nervous as Gavin used both hands to slide the top off. Black tissue paper covered the contents, held together by a Storm sticker.
I gave Archer a quick look, and he was holding his breath, uncharacteristic nerves stamped on his face.
Gavin tucked his tongue between his teeth and peeled back the sticker, then the tissue paper.
It was folded neatly into the box so that the name and number were visible first.
Gavin’s mouth fell open, his eyes flying up to Archer’s. “How did you ...”
From my angle, I couldn’t see it clearly, but when Gavin slowly lifted the jersey out of the box, my mouth fell open too.
It wasn’tEvanson the back, like I’d assumed.
It wasSinclair.
My gaze flew to Archer, but he didn’t look away from my son.
“It’s real,” Gavin whispered in a trembling voice, his fingers tracing over the stitched letters, the patches on the shoulder.
“Exactly like the ones we wear on the field,” Archer explained. “Let’s see how it fits. I had to guess on the size, so I hope it’s not too big.”
Gavin’s cheeks were flushed pink, and he pressed his lips together like he was trying to keep from crying, but he did as Archer asked. He tugged his T-shirt off and unfolded the jersey like it was a precious material that might rip or snag or tear at the slightest mishandling.
Archer motioned him closer and carefully eased the jersey over Gavin’s head, holding it so that he could slide his arms through. It was a little big, unfolding down to Gavin’s thighs, but based on the rapt expression on my son’s face, he really didn’t care.
“Whoa,” he whispered, voice shaking slightly. “Why did you get me this?”
Archer set his hands on Gavin’s shoulders, expression serious. “I understand why you got rid of my jersey,” he explained slowly. “Until I earn the right to have you wear mine again someday, I still wanted you to have one.” He paused, throat working on a thick swallow. “But you should wear a name that’s worthy of respect.” He tapped Gavin’s chest. “I couldn’t think of any name that was better than yours.”
A tear spilled over Gavin’s cheek.
My vision was already blurry and my cheeks wet, to the surprise of no one.
I’d lost the battle as soon as he pulled the jersey on, but kept my tears quiet so I could let them have this moment. Pops didn’t have the same qualms, because he pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose with a noisy honk.